chapter11

It was a horrific sight to behold. The tattered blanket lay on the floor where Sarah Bradshaw had dropped it, and just above it on the narrow bed lay the mutilated corpse of Leah Smith.

Celia Bassett had been the governor of Holloway Prison for over five years, but nothing had prepared her for this. Leah's face was waxy and pale, her body rigid, and there was not a drop of blood anywhere. The normally restless Leah would have looked calm and at peace—were it not for the rictus grin that gripped her brutalized face.

Celia moved forward, the plastic coverings on her shoes making a strange swishing sound against the floor, and forced herself to take a closer look. She was immediately struck by the color of the cotton thread—a pretty powder blue—and the neatness of the stitching. It wasn't a perfect job, having presumably been carried out quickly and in the dark, but it was an effective one, sealing the mouth tight and tugging it up at the corners. The eyelids had been similarly dispatched, stitched robustly to Leah's cheeks.

“At least she died with a smile on her face,” said a voice behind her, its Scottish lilt infected with sarcasm.

“Shut the fuck up, Campbell. This isn't funny.”

“Funny or not, it's not our problem now...”

Celia turned to reprimand her most senior officer, but he was already on his way out the door. He'd been her acting head of security since the previous incumbent departed suddenly, but he couldn't have been less interested in this sudden tragedy. It made Celia's blood boil—regardless of his responsibilities, Leah Smith was a human being, for God's sake—but his weary cynicism came as no surprise to her. Holloway was due to be mothballed at the end of the year, and the prison's skeleton crew of officers were already beyond exhausted, ground down by the daily stress, abuse and violence. The last thing they needed was a major incident like this, which might reflect badly on them and their chances of a decent relocation when the old prison closed its doors for the final time.

And Campbell was right, of course—this was out of their hands now. She had already alerted the PPS, and an investigator was on his way to take control of what would now be a murder inquiry. Celia knew from experience that the PPS guys were remorseless, thorough and single-minded, paying little heed to context in their desire to ascertain “the facts.” It would disrupt prison life, raise the anxiety level of officers and prisoners alike and perhaps reveal some extremely unpalatable truths.

Celia stared down at the corpse once more, her heart in her boots. Leah's sufferings were over. But for the rest of them, the nightmare was just beginning.